Almost Dutiful
by Servatia
Summary: Theon has to bathe Jeyne when Ramsay is called away. I'm bad with ratings, I guess it should be T.


_((I never liked Theon, but somehow I changed my mind during ADWD. And now I found this picture: martinacecilia. deviantart. com/art/Winterfell-bath-271951487 (without the spaces) Oh, well, something had to happen, didn't it?  
_

_Up until recently I never really felt propelled to write ASoIAF-Fanfiction, but now I just had to ... I found my OTP very suddenly. Sad thing it will not do Theon much good, at least I fear so. I pray that I'm misreading things, though. Or that I'm being intentionally misled by the author. Pretty please?  
_

_Anyway, there might come more with those two, but not too soon. I'm still to frenzied.  
_

_I would place a spoiler warning here, but I think if you don't know what's going on this is rather confusing than spoileresque._

_If you've found your way here, please leave a comment!))_

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The door had slammed shut behind Ramsay Bolton and quivered in the frame for a few seconds. The interruption had been most unwelcome, Theon knew. It was a mark of how broken he actually was that Ramsay had left him here rather than chase him out. 'One toe out of line, and I'll have it. I'll know.' His words still rang in Theon's ears. He swallowed and looked at Jeyne. _No, Arya. She's Arya._

'Come on, let's do this.' Arya rose to her feet, her eyes at the floor. Water splashed down into the tub in which she had been sitting.

The stains that were on her were not of the kind that went away with water and soap. She had bruises on her arms, her face, and her legs. And she was thin, too thin for winter. Theon reached for the sponge, soaked it and rubbed it on the soap.

'I … I can do this myself. You can go.' Theon shook his head sharply.

'You heard him, he'll know.' He started at her shoulders, as he always did. But with Ramsay gone, he chanced to look at her face. At the eyes that betrayed her. He thought of the Godswood and how the heart tree had whispered his name. Would it whisper hers too? The heart tree would know them both, Arya and Jeyne. He could almost hear it whisper now, in the water splashing gently at her every small movement.

'Jeyne.' Her eyes darted up to meet his. His hand with the sponge had reached her breasts when she looked at him, and he let go of the soft material. Time was frozen, even the sound of the sponge hitting the water was unnaturally drawn out.

'Theon, you …' She swallowed. And for a moment, it all vanished. Winterfell, Ramsay somewhere with his captains, the white death outside the walls. He felt something soft against the fingertips of his good hand - he almost smiled at the thought - and realised too late that is was Jeyne's skin. He tried to pull his hand away, but he couldn't. Instead, it shifted and cupped her breast, caressing more than washing. Her lips were slightly open when his hand travelled down her side and from her waist to her back.

Jeyne's eyes were as brown as ever, but her pupils were so dilated that they might have been any colour. He felt her fingers against his left cheek, a wet touch, soft but slightly rough from soaking in the water. She laid the palm of her hand against his cheek, and he leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. Everything seemed to revolve slowly around them, making him dizzy.

A gentle touch against his lips forced his eyes to open again, and there she was, right there, not an inch from him, her lips leaving his own that very moment. 'Jeyne,' he said again, whispering the word. She was still so close that he could feel the ghost of his own breath. Then he kissed her in earnest, and for one glorious moment, he was whole again, young and unbroken and careless.

A horse screamed outside and the spell broke. Theon jerked away from her as if he had been slapped. Jeyne's face was slightly flushed. Quickly Theon grabbed the sponge and continued his earlier work. Suddenly, she grabbed his wrist.

'Theon, let's run away. Now. Quickly!' If ever there had been a chance for that, he knew it was gone. He shook his head.

'No, Arya, we can't.'

'I'm not …' Theon placed one of his remaining fingers on her lips and, eyes wild, leaned closer.

'This did not happen, because if it did, we would both pay. Dress, Arya, and wait for your husband.' For a moment he feared that she would refuse, but then Arya's eyes returned to the floor which they always contemplated when he bathed her.

'I will. Perhaps if I think of what didn't happen I can please him more. I love my lord husband. I really do.'


End file.
